


Horses for Courses

by Darkhorse



Category: Australia (2008), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 1930's, Australia AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slightly racist language in there, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6988264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkhorse/pseuds/Darkhorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Australia AU. Javert arrives in Australia intending to sort out his family's failing cattle station. When he arrives he meets suspicious, cold drover Valjean, halfcaste Nullah, and finds out that the situation is a lot more complicated than he expected. The only solution for the station... Drove the cattle to Darwin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horses for Courses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LesMisBabyBang 2016. My first time doing anything quite like this.
> 
> Has some beautiful art by wolfcharm. Thanks wolfcharm, it is FANTASTIC!
> 
> And for any Philip Quast fans (like me) there is a little cameo in there. :)

He had always been taught that first impressions were important, a significant part of a perception and a relationship. In that case Javert did not hold out any hopes for Darwin or the Australia it represented. It was no great city, just a motley, if large collection of buildings, mostly with corrugated roofs. It looked only Half a strong up d on a wild settler town, except that it was part of a civilised country and had existed for seventy years.

One building stood out as he strode along the pier, partly because it stood directly on the waterfront partly because of its pretensions of grandeur, with a high balcony and a porch all around. A sign hanging over the steps onto the Veranda read The Territory. For something to do as for any hope of getting somewhere in his enquiries regarding the telegraph he had in his pocket. He crossed the last dusty patch of ground between the root of the wharf and the Territory. It surely couldn't be considered a waterfront. He climbed the steps onto the Veranda, pushed open the pieces of wood which hung at chest height. They flattered noisily behind him as he walked into the bar. He scanned the room, the occupants were just a ragtag group, all but the old ones showing a level of brutishness in their face. Cursories done he crossed the last price of floor to the bar. The barman looked at him, suspicious. He was a stranger here and marked out as such in seconds.

"I'm looking for Philip."

There was another moment of silence and the man blinked at him. Then without apparent acknowledgment he set down the glass he was polishing cupped a hand to his mouth and hollered "Hey Phillip your pick up is here."

Javert turned looking back out the windows. A man by the dusty car he had not noticed in the scruffiness of the ground turned from his punting packages onto the roof and raised a hand in acknowledgement.

"That is he." There was a dismissal in the short accented sentences. Javert concealed his surprise at the roughness the uncaring and walked back out of the hotel, recrossing the ground to the car. The man took two steps to meet him and held out a hand. Javert took it out of politeness.

"Gooday, you'll be Javert then." Unlike the men in the tavern there seemed to be no assessing in his eyes.

He nodded stiffly.

If you have all your gear there we'll be off. That it?" Phillip gestured at the two large trunks the porter had left on the Veranda.  
Javert nodded again “Yes"

"Goolaj" a broad black face appeared from the top of the truck. He sprang down, retrieved the trunks and housed them up with Phillip's help. Then still smiling the man opened the door." In you get milord. "

Keeping any reaction to the mocking off his face Javert climbed in.

Australia was dust, nothing but dust as far as his eyes could see. No landmark no nothing, no grass, no life that he could see. A hot dry boring back of beyond. What his relative had seen out here, how on earth the land had once made money he had no idea, but his father had Been sent out here to deal with it. Claiming g he smelt a rat. Monsieur Fletcher's family had run the farm well with very little input for three generations so Javert found himself wondering why on earth he had been sent out to the middle of nowhere on the ends of the earth. He hadn't done anything wrong that he could think of, and it was rather extreme method of draft dodging if that was what his father was up to for him. It didn't make any sense. He glanced at his enforced travel companion, at least the man wasn't chattering inanely or tying to push him for information.

“Carney”

“Hmm” Philip turned his head sharply to look at him, the most recent song broken off abruptly mid hum

Javert assayed a casualness, as he half watched the land outside half watched the man who drove him trying to read him. “Tell me about him.”

“What about him?” There was a wariness in Philip’s tone now, a guardedness which hadn't been there before. This Carney was obviously a man of power a man who it was better to be anonymous to rather than to raise yourself to his attention.

“Everything, anything.”

Phillip drew a deep breath before he began “He’s the richest man in Darwin, owns all but one of the cattle stations in the Northern territory and a few more out in West Australia so I have heard. They don’t call him the King for nothing.. You want to watch yourself with him.”  
“I am not easily intimidated.” They dropped into an awkward silence.

* * *

 

Days later Javert found himself fully confirmed that Australia was well suited to its historic purpose as a penal colony. It was a land of dullness. Orange rocks, orange dust, occasional spindly trees in clumps. But finally the van slowed to a stop, and Philip pointed into the dust cloud which was slowly settling even as he sounded the horn twice.

“Here we are, Rue Plumet in all her glory.”

Glory was not the world that Javert would have used as he swung himself down onto the ground. There was one thin rail forming a fence. Inside it was something which should have been a garden in some houses but was just the ubiquitous dusty ground, with some wilted flower beds close to the house. The gate he approached hung swiffy on its hinges and some of the letter which made the name Rue Plumet were there only in a ghost of pale wood where they had once sat before falling. Perhaps his father had been right after all. He pushed the gate open and strode up the path.

“Fletcher! Monsieur Fletcher.”

"Fletcher’s gone” Another voice rang out in challenge to his own and Javert found himself looking up the veranda steps to a man who stood in the doorway, as if he owned the place. “He’s gone running off to his true master across the river, taking your cattle with him.”  
The man had a stubble of beard and wore rough clothes, work trousers and a shirt Javert would have seen the housekeeper at home consign to the rag bag

“Who are you?” He locked the man’s eyes with his own. He was master here.

“Jean Valjean.” The man held his gaze, look for look.

“Fletcher’s second in command?”

Now there was a flash of anger in the other man’s eyes “No, I’m a drover, I came here to take 1500 head of cattle to Darwin for sale. Saw Fletcher pushing half the fats across the river onto Carney’s land.”

Javert listened, keeping his face impassive. After a long moment Valjean stepped aside, and he climbed up the steps, pointedly ignoring the other man and beginning to explore the house which was now his. It was all set one one level, the rooms running from one to another. It was ill kempt, abandoned almost. He turned his back on the shabbiness, moving out onto the veranda. To one side he could see some shabby tin buildings, the servants quarters he supposed. He moved around, noting the stone cottage his Father had said was Fletcher’s living and finally, finally the combination of tin building and high fences which could only be the stables. He felt a small smile break out on his face at the thought of what, or who waited for him there and found himself breaking into a trot as he covered veranda steps and ground which stood between him and it.

He was sweating by the time he reached the buildings and slipped gracefully into their shade, breathing in the scent of horse, as familiar and welcoming as ever it had been to him. Slowly he worked his way down the line of stalls until a particular snort and the twitch of familiar ears above the partition caught his eye.

“Hello boy, remember me.”

The big bay warmblood pulled on his rope, trying to turn his head as Javert slipped alongside him. Gymont, his pride and joy. It had been months since he’d seen the horse packaged on the travel ship to Darwin, and he found unexpected relief in the fact that the stallion play bit at his shirt and nuzzled him as he always had before. Something was on his side in all this mess and confusion after all. A sense of peace began to settle around him as he stood there, just stroking to the horse and enjoying his company.

He didn’t take much notice of chirpy voice in the aisle “He pleased to see you, eh?”, then jumped as someone else stepped up beside him. He looked down to see a little native boy standing there, stroking Gymont. As if it was the most normal thing for him to do in the world. He grabbed the boy by one thin arm, hauling him out of the stall, oblivious of Gymont's upset stamping. He marched back to the house, scruffing the boy along with him

“Valjean!"

Valjean appeared in the doorway behind him, and as did two black women and Chinaman poked their heads in from the kitchen. Javert let the boy go, pushing him down onto the floor with a shove.

“Would you mind explaining why I find the boy fooling around near my Gymont, I believe I sent strict instructions he was not to be made skittish.”

“Nullah’s not doing any harm, the horses like him” Valjean looked innocently incredulous at his reaction

“Keep your boy away from him” It was as if a set of shutters came down in the drover's eyes again

“He isn’t my boy, your blameless Monsieur Fletcher fathered him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Valjean met his eyes levelly “Believe what you like, the truth is that Fletcher fathered him. I have my faults, but I won’t be lumped in the same box as a man like that.” Then without even a mocking tilt of the head, the drover had turned and walked out of the house. Javert stared after him, then turned to round on the servants. They were also gone.

He paced across the hall, into the dusty bedroom. This place... He dropped into the chair in front of the beauro, running a hand over it to clean the leather, as his thumb hooked over the edge the lid shifted slightly, it was unlocked. He eased it up, to find an old litter of things and one smart letter, addressed to him, which he pulled out from where it poked in the detritus. That was the inebriated handwriting of their accountant, former accountant he had to assume given the man’s distinct absence.

_Mr Javert,  
I apologise for not being there to greet you, but it isn’t possible. I suggest you have a look at what I have left behind for you. The gramophone is particularly impressive._

_Your Servant_  
_Kipling Flynn_

The accountant's rooms were beneath the veranda, opening out directly on the so called garden. The door stuck and Javert shouldered it until the wedged catch-lock gave under his efforts and the door opened. The room was a disaster, papers and books everywhere, as well as several bottles whose labels identified them as rum. He wrinkled his nose, the place was a shambles within a shambles, no wonder the entire place was going to pieces. But he had come down here for a reason, the account books, whatever state they were in. He’d been sent in to fix things and he needed to know his hand. He carefully picked his way through the floor mess to the book case, running his fingers over the ledgers. he pulled out each one in turn and checked it. Most were blank, bought in in preparation. That was wise given how exposed he hand seen the place was, they had to get in supplies ahead of time. In fact there was no sign of any used one, as if the accountant had taken it with him, He frowned and turned carefully on the spot, looking for any general nook or cranny. Then he crossed it, peering at the garishly horned gramophone which had been sitting innocuously by the window. Wedged behind it were two of the red account books. Slowly he shifted the gramophone and pulled them out. The writing on the first one indicated it was for this current year. He scanned it. The numbers told the same tale as everything around him. Money bleeding out of every corner possibly, a less than gentle decline into despair and ignominy. Exactly what Fletcher seemed to have allowed and what he Javert had been sent over in order to halt. He gave the figures another glance, if such a halt was possible. It might just be better to cut and leave the land. It wasn't as if there was any emotional connection there, this was simply the result of an unmarried man going traveling setting up and then dying leaving it to be passed back to his family laterally. Out of pure thoroughness he opened the second book he had found, just for a passing glance. The dates on the front page are identical. Where they that incompetent, to start two books for the same year at once? He slid his fingers over the pages, riffling them. Halfway though a fat wedge made notice and encouraged the papers to fall open at that point. He let them, and found himself staring are what was on the page.

_Damn you Fletcher. Damn you._

The rattling roar of an engine broke him from the books, he dropped them onto the desk and paced out onto the rough garden dust. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the little boy and one of the women climbing with all haste into the rusty leaky water tower.  
The car was smarter than the one which Philip had driven, the man now doffing his hat dressed in a tidy uniform, sandy rather than dark.

"Mr Javert I am Inspector Callahan. I heard you had arrived and planned to introduce myself."  
Javert accepted the hand that the man offered, seeing a dark man bending over the ground then turning on the water tap. With a rattle and a wine the great water crank started turning.

The man stopped and looked. "Mr Fletcher mentioned there is a half breed aboriginal child running around here. I thought we might pick him up and put him in the care of the missionary."  
Javert considered, Schooling might do the boy good. But then he remembered what he had left on the desk. Still, he made sure that he kept his eyes on the man not on the water tower as he answered, as much as they were drawn there.

"I am a good Christian, Sir and I follow the church. If I see him I will be sure to send him along."

Over by the water trough he saw the tracker turn off the tap and then shake his head at the inspector.

As naturally as anything, Callahan nodded to him and made a polite farewell, as if the greeting and chat was all he had come for "I thank you for your care sir, I hope your time in Australia will be well spent. "

Javert inclined his head and forced himself to stand at the gate like a polite owner until the truck was far enough away. Then, under some conscious and dimly aware of the shrieking of the other aboriginal woman as she ran from the servants quarters, he found himself dashing across the dust and scrambling up the ladder to the top of the tank. He reached in hauling out first the boy and then his dark mother.

"You Idiots" They blinked at him, coughing water out of their lungs.

"Are they alright?" He carefully turned and peered down to see Valjean sitting on his horse staring up at him

"Soaked, but we'll enough" He climbed down the ladder and was strangely gratified to see the man edge the bay back out of his way so he could reach the ground. The boy and his mother followed him. "Why did you hide there?"

Still dripping Nullah looked back at him and Javert saw plain fear in his eyes "Coppers see me take me to the mission, I hide there I am safe."

"Well hide somewhere safer from now on… Under my bed if you must. Go."

The boy threw him a wild smile and dashed off his mother trotting off in pursuit.

"Why did you do that?"

"He wants him for Fletcher, I owe Fletcher no help in any form and some hindrances."  
He found Valjean giving him an odd look, enigmatic, deep. Then he remembered the book and pressed down any thoughts "I want you to work. Come."

Valjean followed him as he led him into the mess and picked up the second book. Clipped to the page was a written note total profit of cattle sent over the river unbranded to Carney _£22,000,000._

  
He glanced at his companion to see the rough man nodding.

  
He narrowed his eyes, sensing a conspiracy. "You knew?"

"No, but I'm not surprised, the few times we mustered it seemed too small for the calving the year before. Fletcher will marry Carney’s daughter they say. He'll be keeping himself in the King's ivory by doing it."

Carney always Carney, this brazen theft. He let the breath flair through his nose

"We will take the cattle to Darwin and put them in the army boat. War is no time for cruel monopolies to damage the troops."

"We” there was an arch irony in the words

He made his a challenge, "you are a drover, drove them."  
"They are scattered, we have five and a half riders, counting Nullah, we won't keep him away."

"We have six adults" Javert locked eyes, "I can ride, I have a horse. They are my cattle."

"If you can keep up, I'll try you."

Javert gave him a cold nod, fully aware that this man expected to find him and his apparently fancy horse wanting.

* * *

 

Five days later he began to wonder himself. It was riding as he'd never known it before. The ground nothing but dust and scrub for miles, intractable bunches of cows spread. Out over the huge distance, which as Valjean indicated was just a part of the enormous property. When they did find them the animals were as good as wild, more inclined to stampede off in all directions than allow themselves to be driven back towards the house and stocks. The heat and odd noises of the night didn't rouse Javert he slept deep and solidly as the new way of working and thinking cut into his stamina. It took a week before all the cattle were where they should b in the stockades. And Javert found himself starting to catch Nullah's exuberance as the last few cows went in. The boy wasn't anything socially of course, but his behaviour was always so lively. Part of him found it irritating, yet he still found himself smiling, raising a hand in farewell as he headed the main house and Nullah we sent off to bed.

They were leaving tomorrow, setting out on the long trek to Darwin. Javert sat on the verandah steps staring out at the land, at his land. The distance of land which disappeared into the horizon. His land in France did that too,he'd lost count of sitting in the gardens and staring out over the wall into the park. That had been comfortable, comforting. Now he had to admit that he was simply intimidated, maybe even scared. This land was the antithesis of France, all the rough edges still on. It seemed more likely to eat him than be kind to him.

 

* * *

 

It was reminiscent of those days in the cadets when he was younger, in the sense that there was a line of them and one person marching back and forth issuing the instructions. He’d always assumed that the next time it occurred, he might be the one talking, but it was Valjeans bay stockhorse which cantered up and down the line, while gymont stood very placidly underneath him.  
“Whatever your experience or you age, you pull your weight…”  
Javert found the man’s eyes on him and he nodded silently, receiving a slightly dipped chin in answer. Valjean turned his horse away to the stock pens calling out orders as he opened the gate. The cattle swarmed out and Javert dropped into place on the flank of the mass. No one cow stood out to his eyes, it was a mass of hide horn and thick skulls with small brains and a demand to follow the one in front. 1500 head,against eight of them on rangy horses. Gymont shifted and tried to move away at the mass of noise as it flowed past him, wary of this independent strangeness. Even as he sent him on, finding his place there on the herd. They had to get these animals all those long dusty miles to Darwin. It didn't seem as easy as when he'd concocted the plan to spite Fletcher and Carney. But now he didn't have time for second thoughts.. there were cattle which needed herding.

Valjean rose his horse into the boundary river, testing the depth, then turned in his saddle and signalled to gulagh who was riding point on the herd. With calls and cracks of stock whips on the air the cattle were pushed bro the water, baulking and snorting with reluctance according to their nature. He backed to one side upstream, overseeing for trouble  
"Keep them moving!"  
Javert was directly opposite to him now, and he saw how the man's full attention was on the cattle, a mixture of French and English flowing from his mouth as he chivvied them onwards across the water. He found himself pleased and then considering They might make a stockman out of this foreigner yet.

The rocks reared out of the ground in front of him, drawing his eyes up and up and up to the sky. He felt the breath leave. His lungs and his eyes go wide, the rocks had the same presence as the great alps peaks he'd seen, and yet the same beauty and Glory as Notre Dame de Paris. It was something beyond anything he'd seen, and he couldn't break his haze unroll they were actually riding into the gap and the light changer snapped him back. The land of dust had so much more than he'd ever expected, it was a land just as old and in it's own way far more beautiful without intervention than his own. He'd misjudged it badly.

The camp was in the tail of the canyon, the cattle held on the large flat plain a safe distance from the high ravine which meant death to anyone close to the edge. Javert hadn’t thought himself frightened of heights, but had found himself ready enough to back away from the edge after only half a glance, and that lying on his stomach to cull any risk of falling to a bare minimum. He got the last tent peg in, to the eerie harmonies of Magarri’s cattle song on the far side of the herd, nodded to his assignment on the penultimate watch, with Valjean. He gave the man half a glance but forbear any comment. If he was being guarded or tested, or something else, he intended to pass it.

Bellows of terrified cattle and a huge unnatural brightness snapped him out of sleep with all the sharpness of a crack from a droving whip. He scrambled out of the tent and threw himself up onto Gymont’s back on instinct, barely noticing that someone had already tacked the horse. All his sense saw was the wall of flame that bore in from behind and beside, driving the cattle out… towards the edge.

  
“Split up, turn them before they get to the edge!”

  
He nodded, put his heels to Gymont, driving the stallion as fast as he dared, running him along the edge of the herd. It was terrifying, to see the concerted speed of the 1500, not individuals now but one maddened, unstable, unstoppable rush. Determined to get away from the devil they knew, unheeding of the devil that stood in front of them.

  
_We can’t outrun them, they’ll go over the cliff._ He stared down his miraculously clear view to where the plateau curved, seeing exactly how the animals would tumble. Fletcher would win.

  
There was a flash of orange and yellow at the clear point of the plateau and he yanked his reins, nearly foundering Gymont. Nullah stood there, arms drawn as if he was in the shot put, staring straight at the cattle.

  
Javert found an inarticulate cry of horror coming from his throat. The boy would be killed. He tried to send Gymont forwards faster, but the horse was already doing his best, and he knew, measuring the gap, that he would not be able to put himself in the way, much less get the boy out of it in time.  
And then, as he had to stop abruptly to avoid going over himself, the cattle stopped, half a length from Nullah. Slowly Javert turned Gymont into them, turning them back to the camp inch by inch, It wasn’t his place, let Valjean and the others deal with Nullah.

What had been their camp was now an area of blackened ground, with various blackened pieces rising up where the tents had been. Javert knew without really looking that's not much would have survived the hungry mad flames. But it wasn't a hollow of loss so much as a roar of rage which rose up inside him, with only his dignity ramping it down.

  
"Has Fletcher no sense of proportion, of law and justice that he would risk committing murder."

  
Valjean came up beside him, eyes surveying much as he did. "Carney makes the law on the stations, judge and jury both. There will be no way to prove this, just like you can't prove that Nullah is Fletcher's son. Fletcher is the execution."

  
Javert frowned "We keep going… If Fletcher won't play by the rules, then we're not going to be scared away by a lawless ragamuffin. Justice is the basis of civilization. And it will prevail, I don't care how far things have to go." Javert felt the anger vibrating in his own voice.

Valjean nodded and Javert saw something like respect in his eyes for the first time. "We'll saddle up and move out, get a start on them before they come back to check on their handiwork.”

They drew up by a waterhole by a large tree, a baobab. He rode away from the herd, leaving them in the capable hands of Magarri and Goolaj then halted and swung down out of Gymont's saddle. Valjean was already there giving instructions "Nullah, when you've finished there I need you to hobble the horses." then he found himself under scrutiny "You can come with me and help fill the water."

Javert nodded, it suited him well enough.

He waited until they were down at the water, almost out of earshot, before he spoke, and when he did he kept his voice low.

  
" I'll send Nullah to school when we get to Darwin.

  
Valjean's reaction was not as all that he expected for the rather generous offer. The man rocked back on his heel and gave him a look which was combined horror and fury "After everything he's done for you you'd send him there... to the mission?"

  
"What's wrong with the mission, I was taught by priests, they gave me a good education, you shouldn't let your own prejudices get in the way."

  
"The mission isn't like your posh French school. You send Nullah there, he'll never come back, Daisy will never see him again. He'll be trained for service to the White-man and become no one, they’ll stamp out the aboriginal culture he’s been raised in and give him a worthless nothing to replace it. Half castes are only fit to be whitened up and bred in, they say.."

  
Javert sat back on his heels “And how do you know this Valjean?”

  
“There was a young girl I couldn't save from there. Her mother had been used by another Fletcher, then cast aside. By the time I met Fantine she was sick, the doctors wouldn't treat blacks. When she died she left her daughter in my care. The authorities tracked us down and took Cosette into the care of the mission." Valjean had turned his head away as he spoke "I've never heard from her again..." Then he stood up swinging the full waterbags over his shoulder and walking back to the camp.

  
Javert sat there, looking after him,the words slowly ringing around his skull, the enormity settling on him like a ton of rocks.

Poisoned bores, no water. Fletcher had crossed every line there was to cross. And it seemed like he'd won  
"There's water three days ride away" Magarri pointed  
He glanced at Valjean, who shook his head "Kuruman is Never-Never land, nothing to guide you. We can't cross that."  
Nullah's excited chatter stopped Javert's retort and he twisted to see a tall aboriginal man looking at them.  
Valjean's voice changed "We can't, but he can. Gulipa, magic man, knows the song of every rock and tree and patch between here and water, even across Never-Never."

* * *

 

The cattle filled the main street turning it into a raging flood of horn and hide as they trotted five abreast between the buildings. Javert took half a moment between cracking his whip to appreciate the sight. No one would be able to deny that they hadn't droves cattle. Proved that Carney wasn't the only land owner in the territory. Carney. He set his eyes on the fine balcony building which looked out to the stock yards and sent Gymont plunging diagonal through the flow of stock leaping the small flower bed unroll they stood there under the balcony.

  
"Monsieur Carney"

  
The blinds shot up to reveal two men, one right at the rail. His eyes were small pieces of flint in a face, hard, sharp "Who wants him?"

  
He locked eyes with him and felt Gymont dance with the tension I am "Monsieur Javert, currently property of Rue Plumet. We bring 1500 head of shorthorns for the army."

  
"Our yards are full."

  
The second man wearing an army uniform he now saw stepped forwards "I am Emmet Dutton in charge of livestock purchase." He had a worn face, but an honest one unlike Carney.

  
" We will take 20per cent less than Carney Monsieur Dutton." He had no idea what Carney had asked for, but undercutting was worth a try.

  
Carney's voice became bistful "The contract is already signed."

  
"But it's not binding until they are loaded."  
He saw Carney's face loose all pretended amiability, becoming just as harsh and sharp as his eyes had promised. Javert saw him snatch at the phone and bellow into it, but he was more aware that, just as he looked for him Valjean had appeared on his flank. Their eyes met.

  
"Get them down the wsrf as fast as you can, I'll keep Carney's cattle in the yard."

  
There was only time to nod and then the big bay horse was being wheeled away and headed at the stockyard fence.

  
Javert swung his own whip, into a sharp crack. The cattle spooked but they picked up their pace. On other sides he was aware of Bandy, Daisy, Valjean's men all making the same effort and pushing the cattle into a rushing trot. He risked a glance at the stockyards. They were like an overturned ants nest he’d seen as a boy, the men running along the walkways Valjean riding in there, cracking his whip trying to turn the cattle. Then as he sent the bay back out.The gate was slammed in front of him.

  
Javert found himself rising in his stirrups, preparing for a mad dash to get that gate open as the laughs of Carney stockmen rang out. But Valjean calmly sent the bay he rode into a circle and flew him over the bar of the gate as neatly as any showjumper or hunter Javert had seen in the field. He drew rein for a second. Valjean clearly read that as hesitation and Javert found his eyes locked with a hard commanding stare.

  
"Get them down the wharf" Javert stared as the bay was urged into a full gallop, the man leaning forward to race the cattle in the run. If Valjean lost, they all lost.

  
Men were running out from _The Territory_ , lining the street on either side, shouting and clapping their hats to drive the stream of animals onwards as fast as was sensible. The cattle thunders along kicking up dust on the square and the wharf. There was a roar from the watchers, and he looked down the wharf to see the bay prancing, planted by the metal bar that could only be the loading ramp of the ship. He glanced at the cattle yards and saw despair on the face of the men there and felt a smug satisfaction fill his chest, itching his face towards a smile. He swung his whip in the air and let it crack down, sharp and resounding. It suited their victory perfectly.

They rode up to _The Territory_ side by side and were swamped by a crowd of the Darwin pub goers. Javert found himself reaching out to grab onto Valjean as they are engulfed. One of the men grabbed the reins of fuming and Valjean's bay the others propelled them up the steps into the bar. Someone else grabbed his hat, and he heard Philips laugh as another as dumped on its place and promptly slipped towards his eyes. The bar resounded to a tune he'd never heard before as everyone else within range applied themselves over the celebration.

  
" _Shut Up_ " the singing was cut off as if with a knife at Isaacs below,or possibly the loud banging of a boat oar of all things onto the bar.

  
Valjean's order for them broke awkwardly in the silence. "Two Poor Fella Rums Ivan."

  
Ivan looked at him "Poor Fella, for him?"

  
"He drove cattle all the way from Rue Plumet across the Never-never, I think he's one of us." There was a roar as the bold man's view was reciprocated by all the workers. Javert looked from side to side, out of his depth.. Valjean was there as a steady bulwark on his side. He picked up the small shot glass full of liqueur. Raised it to meet Valjean eyes in a toast, then swallowed it. The rum bit at the back of his mouth and seared his throat. He gasped, and found Valjean's hand on his shoulder as his pride stopped him from coughing. When he looked up he found that his mouth stretched into a smile in response. Together they had won, beaten Fletcher. He slapped his hand back on Valjean's shoulder in answer.

* * *

 

There was a soft whistle note behind him "He's gorgeous."

  
Javert turned his head unsurprisingly to find Valjean staring at the dark bay thoroughbred he was stroking. The driver didn't take his eyes off the horse "I always wanted to put a thoroughbred to a Bush brumby."

  
"Part payment for the drove in kind? Breeding rights for him."

  
Valjean nodded, his eyes not really leaving the stallion. "I'd agree to that."

  
Javert kept stroking enjoying the admiration Valjean directed towards the stallion. Understanding and appreciation of horses was clearly something they had in common even more than their detestation of Fletcher and cooperation to undo him. Javert couldn't quite understand why this pleased him so much but he didn't quite want them to go their separate ways. Perhaps it evasive what the old soldiers called a fire forged friendship, they had been through a lot together.

“I’m glad you approve, it will be nice to have a Partner who knows the ropes at the ball.”

"Ball?" again the utter blankness of tone which meant he’d done something silly.

"At the ambassador's house”

“I’m not invited.”

“Then I’ll take you, we’re allowed a guest.”

“You don’t understand. To that mob up there, I’m black, maybe worse than black if that’s possible… They despise me and the feeling is mutual. You go and hobnob with your duchesses and the ambassador, let me ride my way with the dingos”. Valjean walked out of the yard. This time, Javert was left with a hollow feeling under his breastbone.

* * *

 

Looking around the party as Emmet Dutton led him to the head of the mission organisation, Javert began to wish he’d taken Valjean's unspoken advice and Philip’s spoken and stayed very much in _The Territory_. After all the weeks of dust and simplicity the party was unbearably gaudy and gauche. At his side the ambassador, a weasel looking but good natured man was twittering about how wonderful it was to have such a dynamic new patron for the mission. He only half listened as he was guided across the group to the mission men, one of whom reminded him of an unflattering cross between a horse and a monkey. He placed his best society face on as he was introduced and shook hands, with said person, who turned out to be Dr Barker.

  
"Doctor, I must confess I am a little out of step with the work of the mission, perhaps you could enlighten me." His polite near naiveness did the trick and the doctor waxed lyrical.

  
"We help to educate poor boys, orphans cast to us."

  
"Including those of mixed parentage?"

  
"All half castes are wards of the state Mr Javert, and it is far better for them to be raised in a civilised society, away from the primitive full-blood to be allowed to reach to all the potential their white blood can allow them and eventually over several generations to have the black bred out of them."

  
It was strange to feel so repelled by a view which wasn't that much more extreme than the one he had held about people of colour before he came here.  
" You separate families?"  
"For the good of the children Mr Javert." The broadness of Carney's wife interposed "Now I think it would be better to keep this conversation civil. " She put on a horrid smile "I believe my husband wished to speak with you."

  
"Madame" He dipped his head in farewell and turned to see Carney seeping through the crowd like Moses and the red sea

  
“Javert” Carney's handshake was colder, stronger and more powerful than the friendly way his name was spoken.  
"Monsieur"

"I ought to congratulate you, it takes a special kind of man to arrive off the boat and try and upset every known order in the new land he doesn't know. Driving the Kuruman." Carney's bombastic jovial style had never reached his eyes, and Javert watched it shift into the smile of a businessman as the cattle baron guided him to a table and gestured him to sit. When Carney sat opposite him, hands folded on the table there was only the businessman, no laughter in sight. "Now I reckon you don't know much about Australia, less about Darwin. You don't know cattle and you don't know the station like Fletcher does, his family has served there for three generations. You haven't got a manager to help you... I will make you a generous offer for Rue Plumet, we sign the contract tomorrow and you can catch that last flying boat home before you get marooned by a war." Carney leant forwards "A good Christian patriotic Frenchman like yourself should be at home at a time like this shouldn't you?"

  
So that's how it was going to be, emotional blackmail. Javert took a breath… "Monsieur Carney"

The announcer for the band cut off his patter mid sentence and like the ripple in a pool everyone turned to look towards the house. Javert twisted in his seat to follow their gazes as he saw even Carney's eyes widen in reaction.

  
Valjean stood at the top of the steps, looking every inch a society gentleman as he surveyed the crowd below him. Their eyes met and Javert rose to his feet "Monsieur Carney, my manager has just arrived." He walked around the edges of the slightly milling crowd to Valjean. "You came."

  
Valjean gave a small shrug "Philip goaded me into it, and this mob needed shaking up a bit." an easy smile slipped onto his face "Now do we mingle, or leave them to choke."

  
"Leave, I've had enough to last a lifetime" They fell into step, making no effort to acknowledge the becalmed party they left behind.

They walked down Darwin’s main street, heading for the gaggle of lights and people which appeared to have congregated on the waterfront by The Territory. It was quiet, peaceful, a sharp contrast to the chaos it had been earlier in the day, five deep with trotting cattle, whips cracking and horses thundering. The peace after a war. A war that they had won most resoundingly, and a war, Javert thought that they had made quite plain with Valjean's turning up at the Gala. He found himself looking at the man next to him noting and appreciating the cut of the clothes on his tall figure. He was exceptionally dashing, dressed up to the nines, it just didn’t normally show. In the scruffy way he was. Valjean glanced over at him and Javert jerked his eyes away wishing he'd had a drink so he could blame the fact he was flexible shingles purely on alcohol. Valjean gave him a slightly rough unsure smile. It suited him, the annoyingly kind nature which had worked in Javert's favour coming out to be seen.

  
Valjean didn't stop at the territory but led him across the road to what might have been called the waterfront. The wharf stretched out like a delicate spindle into the sea. The sea lowered at them and the sky rumbled with thunder. He glanced at the clouds then over to Valjean "First storm of the wet .It will change the land like a caterpillar into a butterfly, green lush, flowering fat with life. Rue Plumet will be an island, and you will be its king.”  
" _Le roi_ undisputed"

"Indeed” There was a deep sincerity in Valjean’s voice, a sincerity that Javert had never had directed at him before, only directed in defense of Nullah, it made part of his chest warm and his stomach wiggle, this wasn’t just playing along with his joke, but meant the title in every sense. He turned his eyes out to see, watching the lowering crowds. He didn’t know the rules here, but he knew that people like him weren’t welcome in most places in the world. He couldn’t afford to offend Jean over this

  
“Will you stay?"

  
“I’ll drove during the dry, you can cope on your own, but during the wet, it might be nice to have a place more than my swag to call home to, someone I’m not mocked."

  
"There will always be room for you in Rue Plumet.”

  
“Thank you”

  
The heavens opened then, and Javert tipped his head up to feel the rain, letting it run over his face. It was only the roar of joy which rose up behind him that he realised the significance for everyone here. This was a life giving, a point of celebration. Men kept from the verandah and began to dance. Javert found himself swept into some sort of wild dance. The men leaping around, cavorting like mountain goats he had seen in the alps. It was just short of madness, and he was dimly aware that he had a smile not far off the others as they swung on each other's arms. His foot slipped and he felt a hand grab his arm as he reeled, meeting Jean's glowing eyes and suddenly aware that he'd taken lots of swings from various bottles, he both blamed the drink and used it to tamp down the urge to curl fingers in Valjean's hair, lifting his own lips and kiss him. The taller man smiled at him, eyes gleaming with the same wild joy. Javert felt the weight of His hands ended on his shoulders.

  
"Let me see you up the stairs, wouldn't do us any good to lose you to a broken neck."

  
“Merci."

  
The slatted steps were slippery, and Javert found himself glad of the support as he climbed them. When they reached the landing, he found his hand resting on Valjean’s wrist and pulled him forward into the dry under the cover. Only when he turned did he realise just how close together that put them, inches, less. He rose on his feet and pressed a kiss to the other man’s mouth. When he broke it after a few seconds, he found Valjean starting at him as if he had never seen him before.

  
Javert had enough time to wonder why he’d behaved like that, risking everything on a stupid, drunken move, before Valjean’s lips were back on his own. He found the other man’s hand curled around the back of his head, protecting him from the corrugated which he could dimly feel pressing on his back. His hands found Valjean’s chest, roaming up onto his shoulders, the back of his neck. He gasped breaths between the kisses as they wove sideways to the door of the room. Only then did he break away, twisting to unlock the door. Valjean's hand rested on his upper arm, warm and strong and distracting. They stumbled into the room together, wrapped together. He felt Valjean's lips pressing on his neck, hands roaming down his sides. Under his own hands he could feel Valjean's shoulder muscles shifting, bunching. There was a strange deep warmth in his stomach, which only increased as he ran a kiss over Valjean's ear and heard the hitching of breath. They pulled apart, meeting each other's eyes.

  
"If someone catches us."

  
There was a small wry smile "Only Philip noticed and he'll keep quiet."

  
Their lips came together again and this time hands slid under clothing and they fell back onto the rough bed together.

* * *

_1940_  
Javert stared out at the land beyond the house, not really seeing it, not really believing what he and Valjean had heard on the radio. France was gone…Occupied by the iron cold Boche. And he was here, on the wrong side of the world to do anything about it.

He found himself pulling the harmonica out of his pocket and raising it to his lips. A familiar tune floated out of it.

  
"What that song?"

  
He managed not to jump and turned his head to see Nullah perched up on the veranda rail like some mythical being.

  
"It's the French national anthem." The boy frowned at him "It's the song of where I come from, the other country."

  
"Ah, a homeland song. Grandfather know songs of Arnhem land. He teach me, tell me that I learn them, they take me home safely." The boy tilted his head and Javert became aware that he was staring at Nullah, "Same thing?"

  
"Yes, yes it is."

  
"You teach me to play that… I sing you home like grandfather does."

Slowly Javert passed the boy the harmonica. At first all there were, were high pitched squeaks and whistles, then gradually a few notes the same. Nullah passedit back, and Javert blew the next few notes. He found some of his pain being buried under the boy’s joy and his own keenness to teach him this, to believe what Nullah said about songs, that they could take you home, no matter where you were. A hand settled gently on his shoulder and he leant into Valjean’s arm as the other man came to sit next to him. He had a home here, with this man. He’d made it himself. And perhaps, from what he’d heard of the Germans and people like him, it was better for his home to be here than in France. But it still hurt.

* * *

  _1942_

The Land had its own beauty, its own life, as long as you understood it. After three years of living out here he liked to hope that he did. He leaned on the rail and stared out at it, ignoring the tail end of Valjean and Dutton’s conversation. The world was turning upside down, and now with the captain’s arrival and offer of a big army drove to move the Northern territory cattle to safety, it threatened to take Rue Plumet, so far an unattached island, with it into the chaos.  
He heard a step behind him but didn’t turn around.

  
"You are going to take the drove."

  
"It's what I do… In wartime we all pitch in to do what we can to help."

  
The red ground in front of him held no answers, only its own stories "I'll go into Darwin, Philip said there are still unfilled places in the auxiliary home guard they've set up there… He glanced over, to see Valjean watching him with soft eyes. He had to keep his voice level "Take Nullah on the drove with you… And come home safe."

  
He saw Valjean roll an eye back to the house to check for Dutton before quickly covering his hand with his own.

"If I can, I will."

* * *

Darwin was in flames, glowing like a bed of coal. He was dimly aware of a small squeak from Nullah, a gasp from Magarri. But he just looked, not really seeing, not understanding. Then heedless for once, he dug his heels into Padre's sides and sent him plunging down the hill, into the place that resemble a biblical hell.  
It was no less hell like on closer acquaintance. Many buildings were just heaps of rubble. The Carney building was an inferno, recognisable only by the high grain silo that stood still, in all of this, at one side of it. Soldiers and auxiliaries alike were manning hoses and trying to get flaming piles everywhere under control, save what they could of the proud city. Jean turned Bishop away and sent him on towards The Territory. If anyone knew where Javert was in this Maelstrom, it should be Ivan. _The Territory_ was still standing, although not a panel of glass remained in the windows. A few wounded had taken the veranda as a dressing station cum rest point. The bar itself was empty. It was never empty, not in all the times he'd been here. His ears provided to the phantom cheers and laughter of the day they had brought the cattle in. Javert gulping his shot of rum as his eyes glowed at the attention and cheers, Philip's hat continually falling over his ears as he boosted himself onto the bar and continued to conduct Waltzing Matilda, then the national anthem of France. That day had been so wonderful. He found himself leaning on the bar staring at the dust covered wood. A sudden jolt made him aware of Ivan mopping at it around his arms.

  
"He was a good man, too good." The Russian voice wove through the fog. "If he hadn't been so good, he'd be here drinking, not gone out to rescue those children."

  
Valjean lifted his head "Children?"

  
"Half Castes, orphans out on the mission. First thing he says is about a radio tower, that he has to help the children. Next thing he and that Philip are haring off onto the wharf after boat. Stupid."

  
"Drover." He turned to see the army sergeant standing there "Why are you here, you should be with the cattle."

  
"A chance meeting..."It didn't matter now "I need to go out to Mission Island."

  
Dutton looked at him with compassion "You can't, no one could get out there, if there was even anything to get." Softness gave way to the more normal practicality "Now there is a convoy leaving at first light, your welcome to come with us, or make your way back to Rue Plumet. These are extraordinary circumstances."

  
"I'll go back. He'd kept the place running after Fletcher left, it was the least he could do for the man he loved.

He crossed and stood at the swinging doors "Au Revoir, Mon amour." The words he'd grown up with now sounded strange on his tongue as he stared out in the sea, the rough sea which had taken something which could not be replaced.

  
"Where's Monsieur?" Nullah had lept up onto the veranda all attempts at concealment gone. There was no point, in all the chaos who would notice one boy.  
"I don't know", having to admit it to the boy made it real, digging a bullet into his ribs and he shut his eyes tightly.

  
"Can we still say his name?"

  
"I don't know."

  
He stared out from the veranda, clutching the rail like a lifeline but not even aware of the wood under his hands as he dug in. They hadn't been able to say a proper goodbye, their paths flying in different directions so suddenly. As it had started, so now it ended.

  
_Not quite_ said a small voice in the back of his mind. _When you met Javert wouldn't have thought about going after the children out there._

  
Right now he wished the man had stayed arrogant and blinded. At least he would still be alive. He bowed his head and quietly let the tears take him.

* * *

 

It should have been dawn but the mist and smoke was thick it made little difference to the visibility. They peered into it, seeing nothing to guide them or warn them.

  
Then, out of the fog… Music. A song that he associated with another place and another time. _La Marseillaise_. Nullah.

"KEEP PLAYING NULLAH!! GUIDE IS IN."

Tthe boy must have heard him, as after a moment, the harmonica continued, sounding as if it was being blown at the limits of a child's capabilities.  
He turned the wheel, following the guidance towards what could only be the great pier, and then, as the music continued he lent his voice to join it, not caring that he was and would ever be resounding flat on music.

* * *

 

Nullah was playing _La Marseillaise_ out on the pier. Valjean found himself pausing and resting on the truck as the pain stabbed at him again. It was a fitting tribute the only one that could really be given that Javert would be sung to his unknown rest in a faraway land by one small boy that he had originally reviled. He heard a voice being added to the music. A voice that from the flat snatches he could guess at, was singing in French But there were only two people that heck now of who could sing it in French and he was one of them.

  
_It can't be_

  
But he began to run to the pair anyway . He had to know.

  
He was about three quarters of the way up when the music and singing were cut by Nullah's excited shouts , which was then followed by an excited cheer down closer to the water. A moment later he saw shadow looming out of the mist, he stopped, then half started forward. But the figure there was too tall for Javert…

Like something out of the Aboriginal tales the figure chanced shape, shrinking height. He stared, half a touch of desperate hope rising in his heart. He peered into the fog. As if a creature sensing his wishes The fog moved, parted to reveal Nullah standing in the pair wood slats beaming with joy he thought that only a child had. And next to him, his eyes full of triumph and relief… Javert.

  
He stood there looking at him, his eyes both recognising and not doing so. But his heart saw it and understood.

  
"You're alive. God you're alive." He dashed the gap and closed his arms around Javert, holding him safe and close. The pain of losing made their love sharp and he wasn't about to let it go again. The feel of warmth told him that this was true, not just a hope dream.  
Javert backed up slightly, kissing him lightly on the mouth "Home?"

  
He smiled through all the emotional turmoil "That's the first time you've called it that."

  
" _Oui Mon coeur_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> All comments welcomed


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